


A Lifetime of Words

by Aikori_Ichijouji, AkisMusicBox



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Bards, Curses, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Taverns, we are not songwriters do not @ us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aikori_Ichijouji/pseuds/Aikori_Ichijouji, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkisMusicBox/pseuds/AkisMusicBox
Summary: "Why do you even think there's a problem? So a bard wrote a moody song. He likely just hit puberty,” Yennefer huffed as she held on to Geralt’s waist. Roach’s speed along the rutted roads made her hold tighter than their current relationship generally permitted, but it didn’t matter. Geralt needed to get to Fen Aspea as soon as possible and he needed all the help he could get."Something is wrong, Yen. This isn't like him,” Geralt insisted as the wind whipped his hair."How do you know?"He paused for a moment. "I just know, all right?" How could he have not known?Geralt hears a song in a tavern that makes him worry for a certain bard's safety. He's never one to leave Jaskier in distress.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 205





	A Lifetime of Words

**Author's Note:**

> Most of what we wrote was based on knowledge from the TV show and whatever struck our fancy at the time. Follow our lead and just enjoy the ride!

"Why do you even think there's a problem? So a bard wrote a moody song. He likely just hit puberty,” Yennefer huffed as she held on to Geralt’s waist. Roach’s speed along the rutted roads made her hold tighter than their current relationship generally permitted, but it didn’t matter. Geralt needed to get to Fen Aspea as soon as possible and he needed all the help he could get.

"Something is wrong, Yen. This isn't like him,” Geralt insisted as the wind whipped his hair.

"How do you know?"

He paused for a moment. "I just know, all right?" How could he have not known?

* * *

Geralt and Yennefer had stumbled into each other once again, this time in a tavern in Amarillo, rehashing one of the same arguments they’d had a thousand times, when Geralt got distracted, by, of all things, a bard.

Not the bard that sought to be his constant distraction when they would collide, but one of little note and less talent. However, the song he sung caught Geralt’s ear.

_“Happiness was always a legend_   
_One always meant for nurseries and books_   
_It seems like a lark_   
_But light’s followed by dark_   
_And nothing is ever as safe as it looks.”_

Overdramatic drivel, for certain, but preferable to listening to Yen’s same diatribe about the Brotherhood. This bard, barrel-chested and red-faced, never had a proper chance to hit the high notes like Jaskier could.

_“You can run as much as you dare_   
_But hounds at your heels are rounding the bend_   
_They’ll beat and you’ll break_   
_And then they will take_   
_The one thing you want and make it your end.”_

“It’s about choice, Geralt, something you don’t seem to care about,” Yennefer said. “You don’t question why you are where you are and somehow that’s fine.”

_“So this vessel is empty and makes not a sound_   
_It makes not a sound, oh, it makes not a sound_   
_This vessel is empty and makes not a sound_   
_And you can sleep sound.”_

_Vessel_ , Geralt thought and in his mind he went back to the mad witch who thought that becoming a vessel would be empowerment. _A lesser evil, my wish was._ The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. The rhythm of the song did little to help — this bard was just plodding through the song, without the clip and energy that Jaskier could have given it.

“Pick your battles, Yen,” he groaned. Some things in this world weren’t changeable, which meant the ones that were should take priority. Dwelling on the past changes nothing.

_“Final scene’s chosen, exit all planned_   
_You are the halves, no room here for my thirds_   
_I’ve played my part_   
_Learned the lines all by heart_   
_Two blades are worth more than a lifetime of words.”_

‘Two blades’ made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. First Yennefer, now him? Who the hell was this bard?

_But this vessel is empty and makes not a sound_   
_It makes not a sound, oh, it makes not a sound_   
_This vessel is empty and makes not a sound_   
_So you can sleep sound._

“Fuck,” Geralt growled at the last line. He stood abruptly and marched to the bard, Yennefer hollering something at him that he couldn’t pretend to care about.

The bard stopped strumming and glowered at Geralt. “What’s the meaning of this, you brute?!”

Gerat put a hand on the neck of the bard’s lute and squeezed. “Where did that song come from?”

“My own mouth!” the bard barked. Geralt tightened his grip. The wood and strings groaned. The bard’s tough demeanor dissolved into terror. “A-another bard! But he said he wasn’t goin’ ta be singing anymore so what’s the harm? It’s a heart wrenching song, and Jaskier has such a wonderful voice it’s a shame —”

Geralt’s mouth peeled back in a snarl. He leaned closer and said. “Tell me where he is.”

* * *

"You have no evidence that it's even his song besides an ale-soaked bard missing half his strings. What are you going to do when you find Jaskier, anyway? Give him lessons on poetry?" Yennefer pried as they rode into town.

Geralt just shook his head as he dismounted. Roach was soaked in sweat and breathing hard at that point. He gave the horse a rub on the head and slipped an apple out of his side pocket that Roach ate greedily.

Yennefer gave the horse a pat as well. “He needs a stable, Geralt. Let’s find the tavern and get him bedded down. If we’re lucky, Jaskier will be in the next stall.”

They found the tavern and after Roach was tended to, they began their search. The owner did have Jaskier perform two days before, but he wasn’t staying here. “Might be he left town,” the owner said. “Didn’t have enough coin for a bed here, he claimed, even though he earned quite the sum from his performance. Might be staying at the inn north of here.”

But before they even made it to the inn, Geralt spotted him. He was more buttoned up than usual, with a pair of dark gloves and a bag on his back that _clink, clink, clink_ ed instead of a lute, but Geralt couldn't have mistaken him for anyone else, even from behind

"Jaskier!" he called. The bard flinched and sped up his pace.

With a huff and a flick of her wrist, Yennefer froze him in place until they could catch up to him. “I do hate a chase,” she said to him, and with another flick, released him. She crossed her arms as Geralt studied Jaskier.

Paler than usual, his eyes were bloodshot. His stance was loose and unsteady. He gaped for a moment before finally choking out. “Geralt! Yennefer! S-sorry, my mind was other places and I assumed you to be the husband of a certain fisherwoman who was displeased with the amount of coin she spent on my singing.”

Geralt scowled. Jaskier reeked of sour wine and sweat. His eyes twitched like a trapped animal. Geralt cut to the chase. “What the fuck was that song about?”

“I — uh, uh, song?” Jaskier tried to snap his fingers, but the gloves dampened the sound. “Yes, song! Mostly about giving you the patronage you deserve, great defender of the smallfolk.”

“You’re too spineless to properly play coy,” Yennefer retorted. “The one about the ‘empty vessel’.”

Jaskier swallowed, the high collar he wore strained against it. “That? Oh that… well, sometimes imagery from one event works well to portray another! I, uh, had a torrid romance with an heiress in Stygga that ended with the kind of yelling and screaming that… doesn’t end up with a nice rekindling afterward.” He put a hand on his chest and even the buttons on his wrist seemed to constrict him.

Everything about this reeked of lies. “You said you were finished singing for good.”

“You know, us artistic folks and our drama. Everything’s just the end of the world for us.” He put his hands up. “Really, I put all of my grace and respectability for now into the song. It’s, uh, truly good to see you — both of you — bright eyed and bushy tailed, but I have sorrows to drink away so…” He started backing away.

Geralt reached for him, but Yennefer grabbed the arm instead. “Wash yourself properly and then come to the tavern,” she said, a timbre in her voice that even Geralt found hard to ignore.

But it seemed to bounce right off of Jaskier. “Certainly! Of course, friends,” he stumbled, the bottles clattering dangerously loud in his bag, “prepare to recount me with your latest adventures and I’ll bring a fresh pot of ink.” As Jaskier turned and bolted away, Yennefer’s grip became almost painful.

“Fuck was that,” Geralt snarled, ripping his arm out of her grasp.

Yennefer glared. “He’s clearly not in the mood to talk, which is nearly freakish from him. Unless you want me to pull the full force of my ability to extract truth from him — and you don’t, because it will leave him whimpering for a week — we need a different strategy. Perhaps finding out something about whatever may be happening in Stygga is a better start than harassing a half-pissed twig.”

So they went to find the merchant who had filled Jaskier’s bag with cheap wine until they heard a _twang, twang, twang_. Geralt followed it like a bloodhound, down a side alley until they found a child, wearing rags that were more dirt than cloth. His fingers were wrapped around Filavandrel’s lute.

The child cowered as Geralt’s temper crept up on him. "Who gave you this lute?!"

"A bard!" the child said in barely contained fear. "The bard said he didn't need it anymore!"

“He just gave it to you?” Jaskier would never get rid of this lute of his own choice. It was more than his work; it was his soul. Was it taken from him in Stygga? And what were the odds that it would appear in the same town as the bard? Something was off about all of this.

The child nodded vehemently. “Two days ago.”

Two days. It matched up with the story from the tavern owner. Theft was looking much less likely.

"His name, child. What was the name of the person who gave it to you?" Yennefer asked calmly.

The child's lip quivered. "He... he said to call him Dandelion."

"... Fuck."

"Letting yourself be referred to as 'Dandelion' would be a sign for everyone but him." Yennefer pulled a bracelet off of her wrist and handed it to the boy. "Sell this to the merchant at the end of the road and if he gives you any less than three hundred, tell him he'll be cursed. Give me the lute."

The child made the trade without argument, grabbing his rucksack and scampering away as quickly as possible.

Geralt turned the lute over in his hands multiple times, looking for... well, anything. Gouges that would be abnormal from regular use. A note left inside the body. Nothing. Not a scratch on it.

Yennefer almost looked sad. "He's taken impeccable care of it."

It made no damn sense. Geralt's unease multiplied. Yen rolled her eyes and dragged him back to the tavern.

She fetched two ales and sat him down. "Panicking is the last thing you need to do right now. Analyze the facts, Geralt. A person is acting out of character and forfeiting their means of employment. Use that pretty head of yours to think of causes."

Geralt took one of the drinks and downed it in a few, swift gulps. Then, he drank the second more pensively, drawing lines in the wood from the spilled ale. Jaskier had willingly given up his lute, his livelihood. For what? What could have shaken him so deeply for his last work to be so dark?

"Why does anyone ever do anything that insults logic to its face?" Yennefer asked. "He's fallen in love."

“Jaskier falls in love with everyone and everything," Geralt said, growling. "Why is this different?"

"This wouldn't be the same," Yennefer pointed out. "This is something compelling, all-consuming. It could be —"

"Magic." Geralt stood up abruptly from the table. "Recall what he was wearing when we visited. Gloves, buttoned up clear to the chin. Jaskier never dresses like that normally."

"You think he's hiding marks on his skin?" Yennefer asked, her lips twitching to one side. "They could be no different from the ones I leave underneath your armor whenever we've the chance at an interlude."

Geralt gave her an impassive look. "He's a bard, Yen. I don't doubt those would be a mark of pride for him."

She blinked at him. "Are you planning on barging in his room and tearing his clothes off before doing a bit more investigation?"

"I —" Geralt flushed, inwardly cursing the amount of ale he consumed so rapidly, then shook his head. "You're the sorcerer here, what do you think it could be? A compulsion? Magical enslavement?"

Yennefer shook her head. "I was trained and primed for diplomacy. My knowledge is wide but not deep. You're the Witcher. You have more experience with the darker side of things."

Still not sitting, he put his hands on the table and leaned forward. "There's a beast in the south of Nilfgaard with a poison in it's fangs that leave it's victims enthralled to the person who bears the fang. Or there is a branch of curses that require a substantial sacrifice to avoid death. These are typically cast on soldiers who have committed war crimes or embezzling tax collectors. Forced to cut off their own hands."

"Well giving away a beloved lute would basically be akin to cutting off Jaskier's hands, wouldn't it? He's not Jaskier without it."

"The sacrifices are usually a bit more substantial than that. Had he lost his voice, I would've believed it but…” Geralt paused. “What was that last part?"

Yennefer’s brow wrinkled in confusion. "Which part?"

"The last thing you said, Yen. You said he's not —"

"— Jaskier without his lute."

They both looked to the lute sitting on the table beside them.

Geralt threw a few coins on the table, grabbed the lute, and strode out of the tavern. Yennefer followed after him. "Once we find the mark on Jaskier, I can use a tracking spell to point us in the correct direction of the caster. Better than stripping every inhabitant of this backwater head to toe for the matching mark."

When they reach the inn, there is a bard singing an out-of-tune version of the song outside. Not the one that drove Geralt to searching for Jaskier, but the song. The song that dubbed him a hero and kept The Butcher of Blaviken from destroying his reputation entirely. He'd have starved if he hadn't become the White Wolf.

Geralt could barely manage to hitch Roach to the post without desperately wanting to punch the bard.

When a mage and a Witcher entered the rundown inn, the owner threw out all illusion of caring about his guests’ privacy. In mere moments they were on their way to Jaskier's room. Geralt took a scant second to consider whether or not it's worth asking Yennefer to render the bard unconscious first. But that didn't sit well with him. It felt wrong and, oddly, far more invasive than just barging in there and demanding Jaskier to remove his clothing. Geralt would rather he be awake and aware of what they were doing. And that they were doing it to save him.

A well-placed shoulder was all it took to open the door. Jaskier was drunk, that much was obvious even without seeing the numerous empty wine bottles on the floor. The bard was on the floor, leaning up against the foot of the shabbily made bed in the far corner of the room. His gloves were off and only the slightest gap in his collar. Beside Geralt, Yennefer took in the scene, heaved a great sigh and touched him on the arm.

"You're on your own for this one."

"Yen, what —"

"Trust me, this isn't a situation where I can help." She looked away, taking the lute from Geralt’s hands and tucking it beneath her cloak. "If anything, I'll probably make it worse."

Jaskier blinked a few times before his eyes focused on Geralt. "'S'really you, isn't it Geralt?" He grabbed the bottle sitting next to him and offered him a half-full bottle. "Can't be a bad host."

As Yennefer slipped into the hallway, Geralt took the bottle with one hand and grabbed Jaskier's wrist with the other one. Jaskier's eyes grew wide and stared at Geralt's hands. He could only muster a "No- nonono no," as Geralt pulled back Jaskier's sleeve.

Dark, scrawling marks encircled Jaskier's wrists. A dark, black line traced up his forearm as well, along the vein. Geralt's hand tightened around Jaskier's wrist. "Liar," he growled. "Who did this to you?" Geralt demanded, his grip tightening.

"Nob'dy," Jaskier slurred, waving his free hand around dismissively.

Geralt brought his hand up to push the ominous tattoo in front of Jaskier's face. "These are curse marks. Elaborate ones. Are you trying to tell me you did these yourself?"

"An' wha'f I did?" Jaskier scoffed, his head lolling back and eyes unfocused.

Cursing oneself isn't entirely unheard of, but it is rare. Normally done by desperate people who see no other way out of a seemingly inescapable situation. It's the stuff of fairy tales and legends because that fate always seems worse than death. But none of that mattered. Jaskier was a bard. He shouldn't have the magical wherewithal to accomplish anything this complex. So...

"How?"

And, more importantly, why?

Jaskier waved a finger. "'M' a clever boy. Too clever and get people in trouble." Then, he held up both of his hands. One sleeve, still buttoned tight, the other hanging loose on his pale skin. He wiggled his fingers. "But I ficckksst it. Traded in what I loved and that's fickssst."

Geralt grabbed both his arms, pulling them away so he could see Jaskier's face properly. See the rose in his cheeks and the mad, glassy-eyed, grin.Geralt frowned at the weight that pushed down, down, down into his gut. He had to ask, but he was afraid of the answer.

"Who were you trying to protect?"

The grin widened in a way that, at any other time, would have made Geralt want to slap him. Now it only filled him with dread.

"One who thinks he can protec' everything an' everyone," Jaskier said with triumph in his eyes. "One who thrussts 'imself into danger at a whim. An' batshiiiit, crazy, witches." He turned his head and hollered at the door. "Yennefer! Where are you, you psycho, sexy, wench? 'Bout time you barged on in."

The door creaked open. Yennefer leaned against the frame, but didn't enter. Geralt looked over his shoulder to see her holding up the lute. It was glowing. Or, rather, parts of it were. All along the swell of the body and twisting up through the neck were glowing marks. Marks that matched the ones on Jaskier's wrists.

"I was buying you some time alone with your Witcher, Dandelion," Yennefer offered with a toss of her hair. "And to give this a proper examination. You've really gone and done it, haven't you?"

"What do you mean?" Geralt demanded, looking between Yennefer and Jaskier. "What does she mean?"

"You clever, troublesome twit. You've separated it from yourself and put it in here." She lowered the lute and tilted her head. "Who's using you to get to him?"

"Would either of you please, care to explain what the fuck is going on?!" Geralt finally shouted.

Jaskier shrunk away, trying to retreat further to the wall, but was held fast in Geralt's grasp. "Get that out of here!" he said, more forcefully than he'd spoken previously. "I put alotta work into the separation an' it hurt so don' mess up my hard work." He glared at Yennefer.

Frustrated, Geralt leaned and blocked Jaskier's view of Yennifer. "Focus, Jaskier. Tell me what you did and who helped you."

"Dan - deee - lie - on," Jaskier over-enunciated. "That's part ooof the thing. Jaskier causes problems. Jaskier made you known to th' world and made you an even bigger magnet for chaos."

"Kaer Morhen is no more, Geralt. You told me that yourself," Yennefer added. "While there are plenty of those who would use you for what you are, there are still more who would seek to remake you."

"I know that already. What does this have to do with him?" Geralt jerked his chin in Jaskier's direction.

"They don' always follow phys'cal paths y'know," Jaskier babbled, slumping further towards the floor. Geralt grabbed him by both shoulders and hoisted him back up, propping him against the foot of the bed once more.

"They follow connections. Strong ones. Ones that will always lead back to you, Geralt." Yennefer nodded. "Dandelion's severed his by separating what binds him to you."

Geralt's insides ran cold. Someone must have tried to use Jaskier to get to him, that much was true. Jaskier didn't shy away from "what ifs", but he had sense enough to run if danger loomed. But more than that was the sense of abandonment, of outrage that this man who had latched himself to his side at any opportunity given was the one who chose to leave. Geralt had been alone for decades, but Jaskier had been a constant. Like your blood pumping through your veins, you forget about it until you feel it thumping, burning through you.

Jaskier had the right to protect himself, of course. But he wasn't doing this for himself.

"I didn't ask for this," Geralt said first, because saying this isn't fair was beaten out of him during his training. Nothing in the world was fair.

"Tooooo baaad," Jaskier mocked. "You do stuff I don' wan' you to do aaaallll the time."

Yennefer finally came closer, ignoring Jaskier’s pained pleading, and examined his wrist. "The last time I saw markings like this was when some royal prince lost the love of his life. The mage put markings on a crystal vase and buried it in a crevasse to ensure the prince wouldn't turn into a sniveling sod in the middle of a fight to retain his throne. At least tracking down the person who taught him this will prove simple."

"Taught?" Geralt growled.

Yennefer nodded. "For once, there's a curse that requires the victim's consent. And, their administration."

"Goood luuuuuck," Jaskier sang, wiggling his fingers in a coquettish farewell.

Geralt stood and turned, multiple plans of action forming in his mind. Best and worst case scenarios, each one more ludicrous than the last. They had to find the mage who taught Jaskier the curse and find out how to undo it. Or, they had to find the person who threatened him. _So Jaskier could be himself again. So he could be safe_ , Geralt assured himself.

But he was already safe, wasn't he? He'd made sure of that. He locked a part of himself inside a lute and left it with a complete stranger whilst haunting Geralt wherever he went with this ridiculous song.

"Hang on." Geralt turned back to Jaskier. "Why the song? You knew I'd see it as a message. Why call me to you if you want to protect me?"

"Should've been looooong gone 'fore you showed up." Jaskier stared up at the ceiling. "But yer too fast. Always was, though I don' see yer sorc'ry strumpet c'mplaining. Was only s'posed to be a warning."

A warning? Jaskier didn't get to call the shots. And Yennefer was free to abandon Geralt's wild task at any time, but she seemed to be along for the ride.

Magical folks liked their secrets. Magic like this, taught from the Brotherhood but acted on outside of their bounds, were tightly held secrets. Anyone knowing that such sorcery was happening in this town could cause havoc...

But Jaskier was slipping through his fingers.

In one quick motion, Geralt grabbed Jaskier's shirt and ripped it open. "Hey!" Jaskier yelped. "Wha - wha- what are you —" The pattern traced up his arms and circled to the middle of his chest and laced to his back.

Then Geralt stood and threw Jaskier over his shoulder. "If we can't find the mage, the mage will find us." Yennefer gave Geralt a skeptical look, then laughed. She followed him, carrying the lute.

Jaskier pounded on Geralt's back, squirming this way and that in an attempt to escape the Witcher's iron-like grip. This caused Geralt to strengthen his hold, forcing a gasp out the lips of the bard.

"Put me down, you oaf! This isn't how it was s'posed to happen," Jaskier cried, finally letting his body go limp over Geralt's shoulder. "I was to gracefully bow out of the story like any other non-essential tert'ry character."

Geralt looked over his other shoulder to Yennefer for help, but she only pulled the lute once more beneath her cloak and shook her head. Well, it's not as if she could help him, so long as she carried that. He felt shudder pass through Jaskier where he held him. He urged Geralt to walk faster, which he did, at least, for the duration of their trek to grab Roach.

The bard landed prone over the horse’s back with a loud grunt. He whined and demanded to know where they were going. But, instead of mounting the horse, Geralt walked to the other side, where the two of them were at eye-level.

"You were never a tertiary character. Hadn't you designated yourself the deliverer of exposition, oh great narrator?" Geralt pointed a finger in Jaskier's face and watched the man go cross-eyed trying to focus on it. "The story doesn't end here for you. Not yet."

"Whyyyy not?" Jaskier shot back. "My body's not dying. I'm jusss being someone else. You don' like my natterin' anyway."

Geralt just shook his head. Jaskier not being Jaskier was death of something, that was for certain. He grabbed Roach's reins and led him to the road, hollering "Ten marks to whoever has information on who cursed this man!"

"Dark magic is afoot!" Yennefer cried. "If it can happen to this sad lout it can happen to you!"

Jaskier just hid his face in Roach's side, as if it were somehow preferable to living with his current situation. Of forfeiting the thing he loved for… Geralt.

There was a way to connect those two thoughts, but it would open up a path that was not helpful at the moment, so Geralt left them separate. He had other, more pressing issues. First, break the curse and preserve Jaskier. Second, load Jaskier up with enough wine that he gives a dramatic recitation of the time he was threatened. Third, assemble whatever members of his guild remained and eliminate the threat. Kaer Morhen was long gone. Even with the full strength of the remaining Witchers, they still couldn't rebuild without the help of the Brotherhood, which was fiercely divided on the issue. If it couldn't be done the right way, it shouldn't be done at all.

His hollering got the attention of a law man, and after a quickly spun tale by Yennefer, they were promptly pointed in the direction of the last known location of the mage. So off they went to an abandoned mansion outside of town, Jaskier whimpering.

The mansion certainly looked like it hadn't seen a caring hand, or a human presence in general, in over half a century. It was a morose portrait of crumbling masonry, broken windows and tattered roofing. Any semblance of an entrance path was now overgrown with brambles, forbidding anyone from approaching.

"What is it with you lot and your glamours?" Geralt asked Yennefer.

"Not all of us can rely on our abrasive personalities to keep people away," she huffed and rolled her eyes. "Not like it really worked with this one."

Jaskier scoffed weakly at that.

Geralt moved to approach the main door but was stopped by Yennefer's hand on his arm. "Glamour's thinner 'round the side."

They made their way over, but were stopped by Jaskier's hesitance to proceed. He eyed the rickety servant's entrance warily.

"D'you ever consider they mightn't be in? What then?" Jaskier asked uneasily.

Geralt remained gruff and unyielding. "They put this much effort into hiding it. They're expecting to come back."

"Right. Because what's a bit of breaking and entering after a kidnapping?"

"No one's kidnapped you, you dolt. We're trying to help you."

"Yes, and that's gone right swimmingly, hasn't it? Being slumped over the rump of a horse for several miles. Lovely, that." Jaskier shivered and wrapped his arms around his still-bare torso.

The sound of Yennefer's muffled laughter causes the bickering pair to turn around. She waves their affronted stares off with a hand. "Oh, don't mind me. Just let me know when you've picked a date for the wedding."

Jaskier's face was still beet red from being hung over Roach, or so Geralt told himself, so he ignored the barb and led them through the entrance. The foyer was barren beside a small table covered in a purple cloth. A brass, ornately carved vase sat in the middle of it.

"No refunds!" a hoarse voice bellowed, seemingly from the vase. Geralt walked to it and peered inside the vase. Nothing.

"Sorry!" Jaskier hollered at the vase, goosebumps covering his exposed skin. "S-sorry! Big, biiiig misunderstanding. We'll clear this up and be going!"

"This is a residence, not a confessional," the vase said. "Be gone."

"Fascinating," Yennefer said. "It's an amplification spell. Excellent for misdirection." Her voice grew silken. "My name is Yennefer of Vengerberg. I believe we both have similar distaste for a certain organization and I quite would appreciate the company of someone with a lick of sense. Mind if we speak in person?"

"He can reverse the damn thing himself, Yennefer of Vengerberg," the vase said. "I already explained it to him."

Yennefer rolled her eyes. "Fantastic! So glad to waste my time on these clueless dogs. But I was thinking about more interesting topics, like airborne aphrodisiacs and pendants that hide your identity."

After a long pause, the vase said,"If you can figure out what room I'm in, we can speak." Yennefer turned to Geralt and Jaskier. "Sort this by the time I return. I have no idea how long that will be so make haste." With a flourish of her skirt, she left.

"This entire time you knew. You knew and said nothing." Jaskier was cowered by the door by that point. Geralt advanced on him, slamming a forearm against the wall near his head. Tension smothered the air and a glower smothered Geralt's face.

"I-it was my choice to make," Jaskier stammered.

"It wasn't a choice you should have had to make." Geralt leaned hard on the bracing arm, nearly touching it with his forehead. "I can take care of myself."

"Even against the Brotherhood?" Jaskier's eyes slid from where they focused on nothing in the distance to meet Geralt's.

Geralt stiffened. "What?"

"Who else would come at you sideways like this? Using me against you. Using what I —" he faltered. "What you are to me, to compel you. I did what I had to do, Geralt. I did it for you."

Geralt's hand balled into a fist against the wall. "This is not fair." He finally let himself say it because none of it was fair. To either of them.

"Never is with you," Jaskier gave a feeble laugh. "Yen's too tough to tame so they went for the low-hanging fruit, as it were."

The thoughts he tried so hard to ignore screamed at him in ten voices all of whom sounded like Jaskier. Someone from the Brotherhood likely tracked Jaskier down to try to use him as a powerful tether, because their bond was just as strong as his and Yennefer's...

"How do you reverse it?"

Jaskier shook his head, slow and frightened. "Geralt, I can't. I won't."

"I'm not letting them use you, but I'm also not letting you throw away a part of yourself because of me." Geralt leaned in. "Tell me how to get you back. If I ever meant as much to you as you claim, tell me."

Jaskier's defenses seemed to crumble at that. His expression was nigh ashamed. "There's two parts," he said in a low, subdued voice, looking up at Geralt. "The first requires a bit of your blood."

It was almost a relief for Geralt to grab a dagger from his side and slit his forearm. He squeezed it to urge the blood to the surface. Jaskier winced, then dabbed a trembling finger in the blood. The dark marks on his chest had left a circle right above his heart. As he touched the bloody finger to it, he hissed. The blood smoked as he traced the circle. A tear escaped his eye as he filled it in.

"What's the second part?" Geralt said, shoving guilt as far down as possible. It wasn't helpful here.

"I need to tell you something first," Jaskier said, still downtrodden.

"After I have you back," Geralt retorted. He saw Jaskier's Adam's apple bob at that.

But Jaskier didn't cave. "I think - I think I deserve a moment to monologue if you're going to ruin my big, damn, heroic-ness!" He took a deep breath. Looking to a safer space to the side of Geralt, he began.

"I'm in love with you, Geralt of Rivia. I never intended for you to have to cope with that fact. It's not your burden. And, honestly? I could live with how things were. You, doing your Witcher-y thing, protecting people. And me, with someone who fills me with the kind of passion to write truly beautiful music. If the cost of that is you going round and round with a mad witch, then I can pay it." Then, he looked up to Geralt, pleading. "But I can't save you from mages. I can't storm Aretuza and bring the bad apples to justice. I couldn't even put out a bloody swan song without you getting pulled in and subsequently, putting you in more danger. The only thing I can control is myself." His voice hitched.

Geralt tried to ignore his mouth going dry, his head spinning, his urge to pull Jaskier into his chest. "What is the second step?"

Jaskier barked an incredulous laugh. "Still going to ignore my confession? Fine. You have to consent to, and subsequently, actually, kiss me." He gave Geralt a defiant look, as if such a feat would be impossible for him.

Geralt closed the distance between them with the speed known only to his kind. However, instead of meeting with the bard's lips, it was his hands. He pulled back, confused, to find Jaskier looking as if he were bracing for impact.

"Wait, waitwaitwait," Jaskier protested, eyes shut tight and lips stretched equally so across his teeth.

"What?" Geralt sighed.

Jaskier lowered his hands, opening his eyes to meet Geralt's. The Witcher didn't think this man could look any more vulnerable but, well, he’d been wrong before.

"You can't just kiss me out of a sense of duty or something," Jaskier warned. "It won't work like that. It has to be... real. Heartfelt."

Geralt raised an eyebrow, almost amused. "I assumed as much."

It was the stuff of fairy tales, too, but that didn't make it any less real.

"Oh," Jaskier breathed. "Well then."

Geralt resumed his approach, a little slower this time since Jaskier still seemed decidedly on edge. He'd met with forest creatures who looked less likely to bolt at the first flinch. Again, Jaskier's hands stopped him, this time pressed lightly against his chest.

"Now what?" Geralt snarled in frustration.

"Just... just give me a moment to prepare." Jaskier was strung tighter than his lute. He took several deep breaths. "A-all right," he gulped. "I'm ready."

"You can't do this out of a sense of duty either," Geralt reminded him.

"I don't think that's going to be a problem," Jaskier mumbled before pulling Geralt the rest of the way in.

There's something serendipitous about the combination of a person with talented hands and a person with a talented mouth. It's a balance. It's a completion. And it carries on far longer than needed. Jaskier’s marks seared as they left his body, leaving him and gasping into Geralt's mouth. That only seemed to spur the Witcher onward.

"At fucking last," they heard from behind them and they separated. "I won't have to deal with your unbearable sexual tension."

Jaskier laughed, loud and real. "Turnabout is fair play, Yen."

Yennefer dropped the lute on the ground in a terrible thunk, which made Jaskier squeak, but he couldn’t move because his hands were buried in Geralt's shirt and Geralt was still holding him.

A wisp of a wizard appeared next to Yennefer, clad in simple, dark clothing with an ornate brass necklace draped around his neck. "I'm not a romantic, but I did hear talk of vengeance on the Brotherhood, so I came. Kaim."

"I'd appreciate the assistance, Kaim," Geralt said. "If you and Yen are in, it'll make rooting out the fuckers all the quicker."

Jaskier's hands tightened in Geralt's shirt, attempting to shake him. "Wait! Wait, wait just a damn minute. I just spilled my guts on the floor here and got a wonderful, terrible temptation of hope and now you're pivoting to this?!"

Geralt turned back to Jaskier, cocking his head. "I'm rallying forces against one or many rogue members of the Brotherhood because I can't lose you. Isn't that enough?"

Jaskier shook his head vehemently. "Say it. Say it say it say —"

Geralt wondered what it was like to have no shame. He pressed his head against Jaskier's, his lips a hair’s breadth away from Jaskier’s ear. "I love you, Jaskier. You blustering, high-strung fool."

The words make Jaskier weak, sinking into Geralt, but there's no time to bathe in the moment before Kaim starts pretending to snore.

"I told you to be quick about it!" Yennefer moaned. "I'm ready to start talking about bashing in heads."

Jaskier stole one last kiss before turning to Yennefer. "Go on, you ever-so-charming lady, scheme away."


End file.
